Cigarette
by Child of a Pineapple
Summary: FINISHED All he wanted was a cigarette. Was that really too much to ask for? Rating just in case. OneShot.


So…I decided to take a break from trying to figure out my stupid LiveJournal, and finished this fic – it sort of popped into my head over my vacation, then it came up during a phone conversation, and finally I just decided to write it.

**DISCLAIMER – Unfortunately, I don't own Full Metal Alchemist.**

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**Cigarette**

He hadn't really stopped to think when it happened – he'd just acted. It wasn't like he'd been given the chance for reason, anyway. No one even saw it coming.

They'd been standing just outside Headquarters when an all-too familiar sound tore through their conversation. It had been that sound that spurred him into action – an instant later he'd slammed his shoulder into Colonel Mustang's, sending the stunned alchemist to the ground. So, rather than ripping through the colonel's heart, the bullet burrowed its way into Jean Havoc's chest instead.

That was where things started to get a little hazy. To absolutely no one's surprise, Lieutenant Hawkeye had taken down the would-be assassin in one shot, and had subsequently disappeared from Havoc's line of vision. And while he never could remember falling, somehow Havoc ended up sprawled out on the steps, with Colonel Mustang's face swimming above his. His superior's eyes were uncharacteristically panicked, and he said something, then shouted something else, all the while pressing the palms of his hands into the neat, little, round hole in Havoc's chest.

Everything faded into black after that, and Havoc briefly wondered if he'd died – he had not, but somehow he'd still managed to stumble into hell. He'd awoken to find himself prisoner of a stark white hospital room, with a punctured lung and a nurse pumping some unidentifiable liquid into the crook of his arm.

But that had all been days before, and Havoc had a few more things to add to that list, including a pounding headache, enforced bed-rest, so that he didn't further tax his injured lung with "unnecessary activity," and an increasingly annoying visitor. Colonel Mustang had shown up nearly half an hour earlier, and he'd spent that time artfully dancing around what he'd come there to say. Havoc really wished that he'd just hurry up and spit it out – even something as simple as talking left him out of breath, his chest was throbbing persistently, and to top it all off, none of the nurses would tell him where his cigarettes were.

"So, I hear you're expected to make a full recovery," the colonel was saying now – he'd snatched a chair from across the hall and was leaning back – only the rear legs were still touching the ground – with his feet propped up on the end of Havoc's bed casually. "When are they releasing you?"

"Not soon enough." Seriously, though, if they really cared about his well-being, they wouldn't be so intent on depriving him.

"You don't like it here?"

Havoc scoffed, and was dismayed when pain prickled in his chest. "Why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know." Mustang shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just, here you are, with hoards of attractive women waiting on you day and night. I was actually thinking of checking in myself."

The lieutenant responded with a glare, scowling at the colonel's bemused expression. He had no idea how purely evil those women were – not even letting a poor, wounded soldier smoke.

"But all jokes aside--" And here Mustang's expression changed, and his voice took on a more somber tone, "—I did come here for a reason."

Finally.

The colonel was frowning now, and Havoc couldn't help but do the same. "I wanted to say something about…"

He trailed off, and Havoc sensed that things were about to get awkward. And then it clicked – he was going to bring up the other day, and even…apologize, perhaps? Or maybe even thank Havoc for what he'd done?

Well, that wouldn't do. Mustang was a proud man, and who knew how long it'd take him to get that one out – eventually he'd just give up and leave. Instead, Havoc thought it best to intervene.

"Look, don't worry about it," he said dismissively. "It's not a big deal."

For a moment the colonel was visibly relieved, but that passed quickly, and all at once he was back to himself. He pulled his feet from the bed and made a move to stand. And at that moment, Havoc had his epiphany.

"You know," Havoc piped up, "there is _something_ you could do for me."

"…I'm listening."

"Bring me some cigarettes?"

Mustang shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Exasperated, Mustang leaned forward – Havoc could have sworn he rolled his eyes – and finally shook his head. "You have a hole in your lung," he ever-so kindly reminded him. "Don't make things worse."

"But--"

"Lieutenant Havoc?" A nurse, brunette and petite, poked her head through the doorway, only to start at the sight of Mustang. "Oh, my apologies – I'll give you a minute."

"It's quite alright," the colonel replied smoothly, flashing a smile at the young woman, and subtly glancing up and down her rather well-proportioned frame. "I was just leaving."

Unable to hide a blush, the nurse nodded quickly, then disappeared back into the hall. Havoc sighed – and that one had actually liked him, too.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I truly am." Mustang stood to leave, then paused to straighten his jacket. "Get well soon." He paused once more, and an evil glint sparkled in his eyes. "I'll give the nurse your regards." The colonel chuckled – at his own apparent wittiness, no doubt – and exited the room with a wave.

His second visitor of the day was substantially more considerate – Lieutenant Hawkeye didn't expect him to carry on lengthy and completely pointless conversations – and even showed up with a gift.

"…Flowers?" Havoc asked, openly surprised, and more than a little confused.

"They're from all of us at work," Hawkeye explained, setting the vase on his bedside table. "But the others were quite adamant that I bring them to you. I suppose they were afraid to be seen bringing flowers to another man."

Havoc would have laughed at the thought, but it wasn't worth that white-hot poker feeling in his lung – instead, he offered a smile. "Thank you, Lieutenant – but you didn't have to."

"It's no problem." Her mission already accomplished, she began to leave, until Havoc called out to stop her.

"Uhm…Lieutenant?"

She lingered in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame as she glanced back over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"Do you think…you could do me a favor?" he asked hopefully. Maybe Mustang had a heart of stone, but Hawkeye…

"I'm not finding your cigarettes, if that's what you're after." She'd turned back around now, crossing her arms as she did so.

"What? How'd you know--?"

"The last thing you should do right now is smoke," Hawkeye said firmly, cutting him off. "It's bad for you even when you're not injured. Now, get some rest."

Dumbfounded and more than a little angry – why were all these people out to get him, anyway? – Havoc decided to stay awake, just to spite Hawkeye. Unfortunately, his body had other plans, and five minutes after her departure found Havoc sound asleep. He would have stayed that way, too, for the rest of the day and deep into the night, had it not been for the carelessness of three individuals.

If they made any attempt to whisper, they failed miserably, and Havoc found himself dredged up from the depths of slumber by the overly loud voices of Falman, Breda, and Fury.

There was a dull smack. "God, Fury, quit whining. He isn't dead."

"But…he's not moving."

"That's because he's _asleep_."

"Was," Havoc corrected grumpily, opening his eyes and carefully sitting up. "I _was_ asleep." He glanced over at the three men – Breda was scowling, Fury tenderly rubbing the back of his head, and Falman stood back from the two, smirking. "What're you guys doing here?"

Breda shrugged. "Thought we'd come by and check on you – there's more paperwork with you gone, so we had to make sure you weren't starting to like it here."

"Don't worry too much," Havoc commented dryly.

"So I guess you're ready to go home," Falman asked, his expression now serious.

"Tell me about it. I mean, they won't even let a guy--" Havoc paused, quite suddenly aware of his own brilliance – there was no way these three could hold his habit against him. "Look, I need one of you to bring me my cigarettes."

The three exchanged a nervous glance, obviously afraid to talk. Finally, Fury worked up the courage.

"Well, see, we would, but…"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye told us not to," Breda finished quickly. "I mean, I feel bad about it, but seriously…who knows what she's capable of?" Fury and Falman nodded fervently.

"Fine," Havoc replied, glaring daggers. "I see how it is."

"But…Lieutenant Havoc," Fury protested, "I thought cigarettes weren't allowed in hospitals."

"So?"

Before Fury could say anything else, Falman cut in. "We'd better be going," he said, ushering the others to the door. "Sorry we couldn't help."

Of course they were. Obviously those three were in on the plot to ruin his life.

On the third day since the incident, Havoc sat in his room, sorely tempted to hold one of the nurses for ransom, when his door swung open and Edward Elric stepped inside. A sly grin spread across his features at the sight of the lieutenant, and Havoc instantly knew that something was up.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." Edward's voice was far too cheery, and one hand was in his pocket. "Word on the grapevine is, you've been looking for some of these." Edward held up his hand, to show the object clasped in his gloved fingers – a perfect, beautiful package of cigarettes.

Words couldn't describe Havoc's joy – still, there was something wrong with the picture, and his curiosity won out.

"How'd you get those?"

Edward shrugged. "From your place. I, uhm…couldn't find a key, but I fixed the window afterwards."

Havoc couldn't say he particularly cared _how_ Edward got inside, not when he was only a few feet away from his cigarettes.

But something was still off – Edward hadn't lost that mischievous grin, leaving Havoc to wonder what would happen next.

Smirking, Ed turned and tossed the cigarettes onto the counter across the room. "They're yours when you're well enough to get them yourself." He paused, and it was obvious that he was struggling to keep from laughing. "Think of it as motivation."

Havoc could safely say he'd never hated anyone that much before.

**END  
4:30 PM 8/11/06**

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Whew…I am so officially done with this story. I had all sorts of issues with it, but I couldn't make myself give up on it, so here it is.

Thanks so much for reading, and please review. No one likes lurkers.

**Child of a Pineapple**


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